


you've been fighting the memories all on your own

by immortalcockroach (juggyjones)



Series: in this universe, we're fighters [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 6x09, And How She Gets Out, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Clarke's Mind Space, F/M, More Comfort Than Angst or Hurt, Or I Might Be a Liar, Speculation, soft bellarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juggyjones/pseuds/immortalcockroach
Summary: She jumps. Takes the gun, but it’s got no bullets, so she hits Dax’s temple with the butt of the gun and he falls down, but not before dragging her with him. He slams her against the ground and wraps his fingers around her neck and Clarke thinks,maybe this is where I die.In a memory, almost seven years old, when she realized she cares about Bellamy. When they were on the ground, before the great losses, before they realized they were never going to be safe again.When they didn’t bear it so the others don’t have to.---or, in order to escape the mind space, clarke needs to confront her biggest fear -- bellamy.





	you've been fighting the memories all on your own

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so this is a little spec fic on how clarke finally gets out of her mind space and of course, it includes bellamy, because they've been saving him for _later_ , right? anyway, there's some speculation on why clarke has such a difficult time accepting bellamy's forgiveness, which I didn't plan on exploring, but it all somehow ended up here. i thought the whole fic would end up going in a little angrier direction, but hey, these characters are here to surprise me, apparently.
> 
> // not proofread, so don't come @ me with the typos. i'll go through it in the morning, it's almost 1am now. title adapted from 'someone to stay' by vancouver clinic.

Time passes differently in Clarke’s mind space. She notices it when she counts to sixty seconds, but her dad’s watch only shows it has been forty. Other time, when she does the same, it has been hirty-seven seconds. The results are always different, no matter how many times she does the test.

If anything, time is slowing down.

By her calculation, she must’ve been in here for over twenty-four hours. Monty comes and goes, so does her dad, and even the chess matches with Wells can’t keep her from waiting for Bellamy to save her. Or anything to happen, really.

She has no way to know if Bellamy—or anyone—has seen her message or not. All she’s got is hope and faith in her friends. She’s holding onto that, and also on the fact that they’ve always managed to get each other out of situations like these.

‘Do you think I can only talk to dead people here?’

To her left, Clarke hears footsteps and recognizes them immediately. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘That’s kind of sad.’ She turns her head to the left and watches as Wells lies down next to her, taking a hold of her hand. ‘I’m glad I can talk to you again, though. Even if you’re just a projection of my mind.’

Wells smiles. ‘I’m just glad I could beat you in chess one more time.’

‘Shut up!’

They laugh, and Clarke finds it easy to not be worried. With Wells’s fingers interlinked with hers, the world seems to be a little less threatening place.

‘You know, there’s nothing I can do now,’ she says. ‘I gave them the message. Maybe they’ve seen it, maybe they haven’t, but I’ve done my part. I’ve made my move. Now I’m just waiting for someone else to make theirs.’

‘That’s incredibly deep, Griffin.’

‘I know, right?’

She feels Wells squeeze her hand and she looks at him, tears in her eyes. He’s looking at her with an expression she can’t decipher and she feels small. Clarke knows she misses him, more than almost anyone else. He, her father, and Monty are the reasons why she isn’t entirely unhappy to be stuck here. Another chance to talk to them is another chance to talk to the people she loved and lost.

But now, looking at Wells and _seeing_ there is something she doesn’t know, it’s scary.

Sometimes Clarke forgets it’s her mind she’s trapped in. Everybody knows her mind isn’t entirely on her side at all times.

‘Clarke,’ Wells says softly, ‘there’s a door you’ve been avoiding the whole time.’

Sometimes it doesn’t allow her to have a choice.

Clarke looks away. ‘Wells—’

‘I think you’re preventing yourself from leaving his place. I think you can’t go out there and face him if you haven’t faced him here.’

Clarke’s throat tightens. She takes her hand out of Wells’s and props herself up, resting her back against the wall. Her lips quiver. ‘He forgave me.’

The door opens and Monty walks in. He’s still wearing the red jacket, and his hair is exactly as she remembers it to be when she first met him, but he lacks the innocence of a Delinquent. They all do.

Monty walks to them and crouches, looking straight at her. ‘He has. But have you forgiven yourself?’

‘It doesn’t matter. His forgiveness is the one I needed.’

‘It doesn’t work that way, Clarke.’ Her father appears from her side and sits next to her, pulling her into a hug. ‘You can’t move on if the guilt lingers.’

 _No_. She doesn’t want to think about that. But her dad isn’t her dad, he’s a projection of her subconscious, and if her subconscious is telling her something like this then this must mean his forgiveness is not the one she needed but _how can she forget for leaving him behind when—_

‘How can I—Dad, I _left_ him and—How could he forgive—It’s not—’

She’s engulfed in a hug from three people and Clarke feels as if she’s sinking. Her dad’s arms are strong and soft around her, pulling her close, and feeling his heartbeat throws her in a daze. She keeps thinking about the people she’s lost, things she’s sacrificed. The room where she hid her memory of Raven is heaven compared to the chaos happening inside her mind now; everything seems to be falling apart. The walls are cracking, cold breeze is freezing her bones, and the base of the house she’s lived in with Madi is shaking.

‘No, no, no, _no—_ ’

‘Clarke, calm down.’ Wells’s voice is coming through glass and she can’t even open her eyes. ‘You can do it.’

‘Clarke.’ Her dad pulls her even closer, shielding her with his body. ‘Clarke, stop it! You are not a bad guy!’

‘I’ll be the bad guy if that’s what you want from me,’ Clarke’s voice comes from every direction. It’s twisted and echoing and distorted and it keeps repeated, and Clarke tries to cover her ears. ‘I keep dying to save your asses and you can’t even be grateful for it. I die, and you’re not even trying to fight for me. You _give up_.’

‘NO! STOP IT!’

And it stops.

Everything does.

Clarke is alone.

She opens her eyes and she is in a hallway, one that resembles the hallways in Polis. It’s not just a memory – she can feel that. The way the door radiates, some aura that is simultaneously warm and cold, is different to any other door in her mind space. It has a pulse, too, and the pulse is slowed down, and it’s _her_ pulse.

This is it – this is the central room.

 _Josephine was wrong_ , Clarke thinks. She finds it difficult to face her demons, the things she’s done and the people she’s killed, but she knows it was for the right reasons. She knows those were the things she had to do to save her people. She knows she was forced into making some of these decisions and that’s what people keep forgetting – she bears it so they don’t have to. She chooses to be the hand pulling the lever, over and over again, but she’s not the only one making the decision.

She always aches for a choice. For a better solution. For not as many deaths.

Always.

But this is the one thing that _Clarke_ keeps forgetting – she isn’t the only one who bears it so they don’t have to.

One person that makes her feel a little less lonely; a little less like a monster they all claim her to be.

The only person who _understands_.

And he is the only thing she can’t face.

Clarke closes her eyes again, and pushes the door.

The wind is cold against her skin, raising shivers all along it. Her jacket is a little stiff and she recognizes it, and her heart sinks just a little. There is a gun in her hands and her fingers are gripping onto it for dear life; she hears shouting, not far away, and recognizes the voices.

She opens her eyes.

She is in a forest, the same one she buried her worst memories in. It’s different this time, though – it’s almost entirely quiet. There are stars above her and birds and insects chirping around her and the grass is a little different. She is walking, slowly, and the wind is howling in her ear but she can follow the voices.

Clarke runs. She finds them within seconds, and her heart stops a little when she sees him.

 _His curls_ , Clarke realises. He doesn’t have curls anymore, they don’t cover his eyes. And he has a beard now, and his jawline is not as prominent, and he looks so much _older_ and _battered_ and this is him that she remembers. Young and scared and lost, just like all of them were. Him in his prime, when they were still just two kids trying to save the lives of a hundred other kids.

When they were fighting for their lives only.

‘Clarke!’ he screeches.

She’s on her feet. She throws him the gun and he smacks Dax with it, and Dax falls to the ground. She tries to remember how this played out in real life, but she can’t.

She’s already losing her memories.

Dax moves.

‘BELLAMY!’

Her voice makes him turn around but Dax has already got his feet. He pulls Bellamy to the ground and he lands with a loud thud. His fingers scramble to get the gun to his side but he can’t. He tries to roll over, but Dax climbs on top with fingers to Bellamy’s throat. Bellamy grips his hands and tries to push them away, but he’s too weak.

Clarke can’t move. She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t _remember_.

 _The gun_ , she hears her dad’s voice.

She jumps. Takes the gun, but it’s got no bullets, so she hits Dax’s temple with the butt of the gun and he falls down, but not before dragging her with him. He slams her against the ground and wraps his fingers around her neck and Clarke thinks, _maybe this is where I die._

In a memory, almost seven years old, when she realized she cares about Bellamy. When they were on the ground, before the great losses, before they realized they were never going to be safe again.

When they didn’t bear it so the others don’t have to.

Her vision is fading and she knows it’s her time. Maybe Josephine has succeeded, and this is how her mind helps her accept it. She knows Bellamy is wounded and likely dying, and she’s only happy she’ll die before having to see him do the same.

She knows it. She knows that life without Bellamy is not a life she wants to live.

She can’t bear it alone.

Clarke closes her eyes, and for the first time in her life, she’s not fighting anymore.

Something snaps and the hands around Clarke’s neck go limp, and so does the rest of the body that falls on top of her. It’s pushed away, plopping on the ground next to her with a thud, and she hears the grass rustle as someone kneels or sits down on the other side of her.

Her eyes are still closed. She’s not sure if she wants to open them.

She feels hands on her cheeks and underneath her neck, and someone pulls her into their lap. Their hands are rough and full of blisters and bleeding, but they’re caressing her skin softly, cautiously. Their fingers tap against her cheek lightly, and she can feel their breath.

Clarke can’t face it. She can’t.

She’s not ready for this.

Her dad’s voice echoes in her head: _You can’t move on if the guilt lingers._

She has to.

‘Clarke,’ Bellamy says. She feels his breath on her neck; he is worried.

Clarke props herself up and opens her eyes only when she’s a safe distance away from him; this is her mind space. Her mind space doesn’t like her; it’s hostile. She can’t trust this Bellamy.

Not when he’s looking at her the way he looked at her that night, and the night when they pulled the lever in Mt Weather, when he found her tied to a wall for the first time in months, when they didn’t know if they were going to make it and he wanted to say something, when they were talking in Becca’s lab, and when he came to her rescue with Diyoza.

He’s looking at her as if he won’t be able to live if she dies.

‘Clarke?’

She shakes her head at him and looks away, trying to find a tree she remembers they were both resting against. When she does that, she tries to catch a breath, but her throat hurts and her heart is racing and she understands why she’s been avoiding this room this whole time.

Bellamy drags himself to sit next to her, their shoulders almost touching. She feels the heat of his body, his breath on her exposed skin as he’s looking at her, and she smells the mixture of blood, sweat, and dirt that comes off of him. Her eyes travel to his body, only to check the damage – his right ankle is a little twisted and there is a bloodied tear at his left thigh, but that’s all that might prevent him from being fully mobile. She glances upwards, to his face, and she’s relieved to find only a thin dark brown trail from his temple, down his cheeks. He’s looking at her and the moon is shining bright, and his pupils don’t look dilated.

Clarke releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. _He’s going to be fine_.

‘Clarke, are you all right?’

She nods. Looks away, too, because seeing him like this physically makes her sick with guilt.

_You can’t move on if the guilt lingers._

She closes her eyes for a brief second, bracing herself for what comes next. Her lips quiver and her hand finds his, and she can hardly believe the warmth that spreads through her body when he gives her a squeeze.

His thumb traces circles around her palm and he moves a little closer. Her lips quiver.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says softly. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

‘You didn’t,’ he says, just as softly. ‘You saved my life.’

She coughs out a sob, and her throat hurts.

‘Don’t talk. We’ll rest for a while and then head back.’

He squeezes her hand again, and when he rests his head against her shoulder, Clarke knows it’s not the Bellamy he was at that time. He _was_ softer, and gentler, and he was trying to do what’s best for him and his sister, but Clarke also knows that the memory she is reliving marks a point of no return for both of them – when they became each other’s worries.

She allows herself to soak it all in for a moment, resting her head against Bellamy’s. She can feel his breath stabilising and it’s hot against her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Their hands are still intertwined and she wraps herself in this false memory, and wishes for it to never end.

She wishes for a redo. For another shot at all of this.

Maybe she’d do better, this time.

Minutes have gone by, and they haven’t moved. Clarke isn’t controlling what Bellamy does – she doesn’t want to.

‘I miss you,’ she says. She doesn’t even know if he can hear her. ‘The person you were when we landed.’ She laughs at the memories, and his head bounces a little, but he doesn’t budge. ‘You were so _cocky_ , so full of yourself. I can’t believe I was actually fooled by that. I thought you were this big guy, the asshole of the universe, and I think this night was when I realized you weren’t, That you were just as scared as the rest of us. You had just as much to lose.’

She turns around a little bit, and looks at Bellamy. His eyes are closed and he’s dozed off, and the sharp lines of his face look softer under the moonlight. She presses her lips to the top of his head, feeling the dirt on it, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s still rubbing circles on her palm, even in his sleep.

‘You look so young, Bellamy. You were so naïve. I was, too – all of us were. None of us were cut out for war, any of the ones we had to lead. Maybe this is why I miss the young you. The young _us_.’ She laughs, again, only this time, it’s hollow. ‘We were so innocent, so determined to save the world. I wonder what we’d think if we found out how many times we failed at that.’

She realizes, then, that the whole thing isn’t _just_ about leaving Bellamy in the pits. It’s about leaving him behind over and over again, every time something comes up. Leaving him behind after Mt Weather, when she didn’t realize he needed her just as much as she needed him. When going away and constantly having to remind herself that she thought she was doing them all a favour by not being with them, when she didn’t realize that he was going through the same thing. He was _with_ her. He pulled the lever _with_ her. And she left him to deal with it on without her.

And then again, she left him several times, for Lexa. She left him because even then, she found it difficult to face what she’s done to him. When he’d ask to speak with her and she’d have no time for him, and they couldn’t have the conversation they so needed. With time, in critical moments, when feelings are at their high, she could face him less and less.

They’re guilty of so, _so many things_. Their people don’t resent him for them the way they resent her, and she’s fine with that. If she can’t find it in herself to help him, at least the ones around him can. Even if she knows, deep down, that she’s the only one who can truly understand.

Just like he’s the only one who can truly understand _her._

 _Together_ , they said, so many decades ago. But this night, when Bellamy asked her to run away with him, was the night when she first _felt_ the word they’d use so much later.

When she realized it was going to be the two of them against any and every threat, when he returned with her to the camp.

It was the night she kept betraying – _this_ was the Bellamy she kept betraying.

And _this_ was the Bellamy she couldn’t face.

Until now.

‘Do you think you’d really forgive me?’ she asks. ‘In the real world, if I come back?’

Bellamy squeezes her hand; she doesn’t even know when he woke up. ‘I know I will.’

Clarke sniffs. ‘Of course you’d say so. It’s what I hope would happen. You’re just a projection in my head.’

He brings her hand to his chest and looks at the moon; she can see the outline of his jaw, and she wonders if they’re ever going to be as unburdened again. ‘Why does that matter? You know me best, Clarke, because we’ve been through the same things.’

‘You spent years away from me.’

‘Years in which nothing significant has happened.’

‘Echo—’

‘Did Echo save our people with us, over and over again? Did Echo leave me, over and over again, but I kept coming back to her because I knew she was what I needed?’ Bellamy questions. ‘I love Echo, Clarke. I’m not going to deny that. But no matter how hard she tries to understand me, she wasn’t with me in Mt Weather. Or Polis. Anywhere.’

‘I left you in the pits,’ Clarke breathes out. Her heart skips a beat.

‘You left me behind in the pits to die,’ Bellamy says. There is little anger, little sadness, little pity; it’s a statement she never wanted to hear. ‘But you fought for me, before and after. I know it was because in that moment, you had to make a choice between me and Madi.’

‘That what you said before I…’ _died._

‘Clarke, _think_. I forgave you for a reason. We’ve both done things that weren’t good. We’ve both had to figure out how to work together again. But we’ve sacrificed things for each other, over and over again, and—’

‘That’s not a good thing,’ Clarke states. Her throat is closing in on her and she can barely raise her voice above a hoarse whisper. There are salty streams on her cheeks, all of them lost in Bellamy’s curls. ‘We shouldn’t need to sacrifice anything.’

‘No, we shouldn’t. But we did. And you can’t change that.’

The sky full of stars becomes interesting, because she can’t bear to look at Bellamy anymore. She’s painfully aware of his presence right next to her, and she knows he’s waiting for her to say something.

‘I wish I hadn’t left you,’ she says.

‘I forgave you for it.’

She turns her head and forces herself to look at him. His curls are covering some of his eyes, but she can see them, clear as day. They are dark but soft, and the freckles scattered around them are something Clarke knows she never paid much attention to. It would always be when they would be this close, that she would notice them – the little constellations. Sometimes, she dreams about them, and wonders if she could ever find the stars as beautiful as them. It’s not something she would admit – but the stars are unreachable, and Bellamy is here, _always_ , and maybe she doesn’t need to reach for the stars to be happy.

But not like this. Not when she keeps hurting him. Not when she can’t admit to herself that she might love him, but she’s bad for him.

So she asks: ‘Which time?’

‘Every.’

Bellamy’s voice breaks and Clarke can’t even contain her sob. She covers her mouth with her hand, but Bellamy covers it with his and pulls it down. ‘It’s all right to cry.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she cries out, ‘I’m so, _so_ sorry.’

‘I know you are. Both me and the real one.’

‘I can’t know that.’

‘You do, Clarke.’ He takes her hand and puts it against her chest. ‘Right here.’

‘Bellamy—’

‘Can we not talk for a minute?’

He turns his head away from her, but it’s not menacing. It’s soft, and gentle, and she feels like he’s allowing her to have some space before she rushes into saying things she doesn’t want to say. Even if this isn’t the real Bellamy, it’s as close to the original as possible, and Clarke doesn’t know if she’s grateful for that.

It feels all too real. It hurts just as much.

They’re quiet for a while, and Clarke appreciates it. She notices that Dax’s body is gone and so are their wounds, and she appreciates that, too. She stifles a sob and lets out a shaky breath as she tries to regain her composure – she doesn’t want to cry in front of any Bellamy.

As if he’s heard her thoughts, Bellamy props himself up higher against the tree. Where his head lied Clarke now feels a cold breeze, but before she has the time to process it, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her to his chest. He’s warm and soft and smells like the Earth, and Clarke lets the tears roll down her cheeks. Bellamy’s fingers work their way through her hair and he hums a tune she doesn’t recognize, but she doesn’t mind. She closes her eyes, too.

Maybe she could forgive herself, if that’s what the future holds for them.

After what feels like hours, Clarke opens her eyes. One of Bellamy’s hands is still entangled in her hair, but the other one is rubbing circles into her shoulder. She listens to his heartbeat and it’s calming in a way that it feels almost too familiar. A part of her wonders if it’s her heartbeat, just attributed to Bellamy.

She puts her hand atop of Bellamy’s on her shoulder, and laces their fingers together. ‘I thought you’d be angry.’

It’s the truth. It’s why she’s been avoiding him – there was the big question of how her mind and her conscience would perceive Bellamy. She thought he’d be raging at her, throwing insults left and right, but maybe she knows him too well to let even her own fears fool her. Bellamy would never do that – he’s too strong, even in her own mind space.

‘No,’ he says. ‘You’re the one who’s angry. Clarke, when it comes down to you and me, I’ll give you forgiveness as many times as you need it. You just don’t want to accept it, because you feel like accepting forgiveness would mean that the sacrifices you make are worth nothing. That the people who die so we could live, that their lives mean nothing.’

‘That’s not true,’ she whispers.

‘No, it’s not.’ Bellamy pulls her closer and she feels herself relax into him. He rests his chin atop her head, and she wonders if they’ve ever been this close. ‘You did things that you did, and I did almost all of them with you. And the one thing I didn’t…’

‘It’s the thing I regret the most.’

‘You left me behind. But you came back.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘No, Clarke, you did. You keep coming back, just like I keep coming back. And maybe it’s time to move on. To stop holding onto things from the past. If Bellamy’s let go, you can let go, too. That doesn’t mean you forget what you did. Holding onto it doesn’t do you any good. If anything, it makes it harder for you to live, and be happy, when you deserve it.’

‘I never – I never thought my own conscience would be telling me that I deserve to be happy.’

‘You’re good at twisting everyone into hating you, but you know me too well. You weren’t afraid of entering this room because you thought I’d be angry.’

He’s right.

‘I was angry because I knew you’d forgive me.’

Bellamy presses a kiss to her temple. ‘Over and over again.’

‘Do you really think I deserve forgiveness?’

The world stops a little, even though nothing changes. Everything around Bellamy and her is frozen, and Clarke feels a little dizzy, but a little lighter, too. She can tell Bellamy is smiling, even if she doesn’t know why. She likes it, though – it’s been too long since she’s seen him smile.

He puts a hand on her cheek, putting a runaway strand out of her face. His face is soft but excited, and his smile grows a little wider.

‘You’re already accepting it,’ he says softly.

Bellamy’s eyes glance towards her lips and back to her eyes, eyebrows slightly raised, as if in question. Clarke closes her eyes, and waits. His fingers linger on her cheek a little longer, before pulling her closer and closing the gap between them.

The kiss is bittersweet, because she can taste both of their tears. It’s soft and gentle, and they’re taking all the time in the world, because that’s what they deserve after all this time. Clarke knows this is just a projection and none of it is real, but it feels nice to fool herself into thinking it could be. Maybe she _could_ have this, sometime.

After all, she thinks as their lips part, this Bellamy has not had a single difference from the real one.

He smiles with sadness and hope in his eyes. ‘Don’t leave me behind this time.’

‘I won’t.’

With those words on her lips and Bellamy’s face in front of her, Clarke wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> i legit got the idea for this and wrote the whole thing in, like, four hours. i don't think i've ever typed that fast. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed it! if you did, leave kudos and give me a comment on what you liked ~~or disliked, dunno~~ the most, or maybe an idea on what i could write about next. as always, you can find me on [bellarkesgodson](https://bellarkesgodson.tumblr.com/)!


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